


Some place real

by JadeGlade



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Constipation, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Pack Family, Post-Season/Series 04, Slow Burn, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-09-18 09:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16992825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeGlade/pseuds/JadeGlade
Summary: Fuzzily, he pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts before hovering over one particular name. Unable to ignore it any longer he sits up, takes another swig and hits call. It goes straight to voicemail, of course it does.He should hang up, but instead he sighs into the phone after the beep.“I'm - I'm mad at you,” he finally manages to stutter out.orStiles doesn't know what's wrong. He returns from Mexico in a haze, a feeling of regret constantly gnawing at the pit of his stomach. As senior year begins, a darkness seems to be creeping over Beacon Hills, the pack is drifting apart and bodies are starting to pile up, again. Somehow drunk dialling Derek Hale seems like the only solution.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever attempt at a fanfic, so huge apologies in advance :-)  
> I'm pretty late to the Teen Wolf party, having spent the past few weeks binge watching and falling in love with these characters.  
> Season 5 just doesn't feel the same without Derek, so here is my attempt at writing him into it.  
> Title is from Gabrielle Aplin's beautiful 'Home'.

Summer was unusually quiet in the Stilinski household. Stiles was grounded after the incident in Mexico. The incident he never talks about. 

On their return the Sheriff had cornered him and Scott at the station. He’d ushered them into his office, waiting for an explanation with an exasperated huff, one hand on his hip, the other held firmly around the strap of his gun.  
After a painfully long stretch of silence Scott had stumbled to explain most of the details. Stiles just stared at the floor, refusing to contribute more than a hand gesture or an eye roll - adding how ragged and worn his dad had looked to his list of reasons to feel guilty. Scott talked about the heroics of the pack and Derek’s supernatural ‘evolution’ in awed tones, as though it made the horror of everything that went before it alright.

Derek had decided not to return to Beacon Hills and Stiles held his tongue about that too.

Summer drags on and he starts to feel that something inside of him might finally have snapped. During the day he functions - he bullies his dad into eating tofu, he gets ahead on class reading and practices lacrosse with Scott and Liam. He reminds himself to smile at the right moments. Malia visits less and less but he can’t bring himself to care.

At night he tosses and turns for hours. In frustration he takes down his investigative wall, desperate for some respite from the tangle of red string and dead faces staring at him accusingly from across the room.  
When he does drift into sleep the same dreams are always waiting.  
He's surrounded by berserkers, they advance towards him with even, heavy steps. Sometimes Scott is one of them - he never recognises Stiles. Derek is often there, hurt and bleeding. Stiles can never reach him, his limbs bound, the restraints tightening the more he flails and fights to reach him. Sometimes the Nogitsune is there, laughing menacingly before he kills them all. He wakes tangled in his covers with a raw throat, relieved that his dad works nights and isn't there to hear his screams. 

On the night before school starts he’s dragged to the library by an excited Scott and Kira, his name scrawled on a shelf to celebrate the start of senior year. He stares at the initials A.A that Scott has added and feels a sense of everything that has been lost crashing into him like a wave. This year was meant to be different.  
So many things he had once wished for have been realised. His jeep is still in one piece, he plays first string for the lacrosse team and he has great friends, including Lydia Martin. His 14 year old self would have killed for her to even know his name. He huffs softly, not even able to recognise himself in those memories now. As they turn to leave Scott offers him a broad smile and a reassuring clap on the shoulder. 

Lydia finds her way to his other side, looping her arm through his and giving him a look that says, whatever’s wrong we’re here for you and he believes her. With a tight throat he squares his shoulders, offers her a genuine smile in return and keeps going. 

Perhaps it’s time to stop looking backwards, he thinks.

-

The relative peace holds for only a few weeks, a few ridiculously short weeks. Theo from middle school arrives out of nowhere and at exactly the same time bad things start happening again. He’s desperate to worm his way into the pack and Stiles can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. No one else wants to hear it though. 

Fall brings Chimera’s, Dread Doctors and death threats from that psychopath Donovan that his dad's arrested a dozen times. And that's enough to do it, he finds himself back creeping in the woods. This time he drags Liam along, desperate to at least catch Theo in the middle of whatever he's part of, which as it turns out is just leaving flowers for his dead sister. 

Nicely done Stiles, he sighs as they trek back to the jeep. 

Scott is waiting for them there, radiating this sense of utter disappointment and suddenly Stiles is furious. Of course Scott would trust Theo, Scott trusts everyone and he shouts that at him, punching his hand into the jeep in frustration. 

What was the point in trusting people? In his recent experience a high proportion turn out to be seriously shady, and for the rest the consequences were often worse. You could get use to someones gruff wisecracks, someones ability to make questionable decisions and then save your life as though it was a given. Being reliant was a problem because sooner or later, these people would leave. 

He sighs as Scott takes hold of his hand, his face creased in concern and poised as though about to say something. Instead he fixes him with a soft, knowing look and draws the pain from his hand. Stiles feels a little guilty but he doesn't change his mind. 

On the drive back to town Liam suggests a trip to Sinema. He tells Stiles that Mason could use an extra flight attendant and that perhaps they could both do with a night, or at least a few hours, away from facing off with death. He's either reaching to fill the pointed silence in the car or he's looking for an excuse to see Hayden, but Stiles is grateful either way. 

They stop to pick up Mason, who materialises from the house with a sly grin and his latest experimental brew. He’d been raiding his dads liquor stash and trying to subtly draw hints from Deaton for weeks, personally offended that Liam would never have the chance to get drunk and determined to rectify this.

"It's perfectly safe, I think." He says crookedly, handing out the flasks. 

"Wolfsbane?" Liam splutters after his first sip. 

"Teeny, tiny amounts." Mason answers, a hint of reproach crosses his face before dissolving into a beam when Liam replies, “brilliant.”

It's all downhill from there really. For a while Stiles actually has fun, he dances and gets far too involved in his flight attendant role, waxing lyrical about Mason to Brett until he notices the increasingly less subtle eye gestures he's been thrown and makes himself scarce, his work done.

Later they all stumble to the school, Stiles finally feeling like he may have a fair lacrosse match. As it turns out drunk werewolves are still better than drunk Stiles, who'd have known?

Liam disappears with a guilty smile when Hayden finishes her shift and minutes later Brett and Mason melt behind the bleachers together. 

Stiles gives them an exaggerated salute and smile, “have a pleasant flight.”

Still clutching his flask he stumbles down to lay on the field. "I'll be right here,” he speaks to his feet.

The feeling that had been rumbling at the back of his mind all summer, the itch that he’d been unable to scratch surfaces again as he lays there. Fuzzily, he pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts before hovering over one particular name. Unable to ignore it any longer he sits up, takes another swig and hits call. It goes straight to voicemail, of course it does. 

He should hang up, but instead he sighs into the phone after the beep. 

“I'm - I'm mad at you,” he finally manages to stutter out. 

"I'm mad at you, Derek,” he tries again after a pause, struggling to keep his voice level. 

Silence stretches on as Stiles battles with a surge of regret rising in his chest. He feels tears prickling his eyes as he chokes out, “and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything." 

Finally disconnecting the call he lays back down on the grass, his head clear and his eyes suddenly feeling heavy.

The next thing he's aware of is being carried, limbs dangling awkwardly between a giggling Brett and Mason, who then dump him unceremoniously on his couch. Mason's prizing the alcohol from his hand and Brett is falling over a lamp. 

This so doesn't look good, Stiles thinks and then his dad is suddenly behind them, clearing his throat and making them both jump. Stiles shuts his eyes again.

When he wakes the following morning his head is pounding and his mouth feels like a desert. He has this nagging feeling of embarrassment and grimaces thinking about all the possible ways he could have embarrassed himself - it had to be the dancing, maybe the podium had been a mistake? He groans and then jolts when his dad laughs softly from across the room. He's bearing a coffee and moves to perch on the arm of the sofa.

“Hey dad, about last night… you see the thing is—“ 

He's gearing up for a long and animated explanation of mitigating factors before he's interrupted.

"It's ok Stiles. You know I've been so worried about you. All these supernatural threats you are your friends have been facing, and I feel so helpless. But my son getting drunk - this is something I actually feel equipped to deal with. This seems normal, and I can't tell you how relieved that makes me.”

"You're not mad huh? Well I guess there's no punishment to speak of then?" 

"Oh I didn't say that.”

Stiles dramatically deflates back down on the sofa and then instantly regrets the sudden movement. His dad hesitantly runs a hand over his forehead, brushing his hair back and Stiles can't help but but relax. It lasts for a few calm seconds before realisation dawns like a hammer strike - he called Derek last night.  
He sits bolt upright, scrambling for his phone, all colour draining from his face. 

“Oh god!” he whispers as the call log confirms it. 

What the hell had been said? 

In that moment he feels he could out-scream any banshee.

"Whatever punishment you're cooking up dad cannot be as bad as what I've already inflicted on myself, believe me." 

He spends the rest of his day stunned, shaking his head and avoiding his dad's chuckles. He makes dinner and watches Star Wars, seeking comfort in familiarity. He goes to sleep that night and falls into a nightmare - Derek is there of course, bleeding and hurting. He's insisting that he's fine, but Stiles knows that he's dying. "No" he murmurs in sleep. He struggles to reach him, thrashing as in his dream they seem to move further and further apart, “NO-"

He wakes with a start, opening his eyes to see Derek Hale, in the flesh, in his room.  
He’s standing over him, arms held tight across his chest, his face fixed in its usual glare.  
Stiles isn’t proud of it but he screams, eyes popping out of their sockets, hands twisting free of the covers.

“Ohmygodyouscaredme..” he exhales heavily. 

Derek says nothing, he just stands there like a ridiculously chiseled statue. 

Realising there’s no immediate threat, Stiles suddenly feels that screaming in Derek’s face hadn’t been the smoothest conversation starter.

“Sorry." 

Derek’s mouth curves a little " Yeah, I already got that message.”

"You did? Wow - yeah - I - um." 

Stiles is panicking for what to say, he flails his arms as though this will explain everything, which is madness because he can't even explain it to himself. His heart rate must be through the roof, his palms sweating. Derek just raises an eyebrow, staying typically silent.

"So, now you're here to beat me to death with my phone." Stiles concludes, nodding.

“Or, you could just delete your number from it? I actually vote for that option-" 

"Shut up, stiles. Your dad's coming." 

Derek crosses the room silently, taking his place behind the door just before it cracks open. 

"You ok son?" His dad asks from the doorway.

"All good dad - great actually, just a dream…but thanks - sorry to wake you." He's babbling which is never a good sign, get a hold on this, be convincing! he thinks sternly.

"I thought the nightmares were getting better?”

"Oh they are, uh - that was a happy dream. I, um, screamed because…I woke up?"  
he offers in explanation, sounding unsure to even his own ears. 

He groans internally as he sees a glimpse of Derek shaking his head behind the door. 

“Stiles, you don’t need to pretend with me. I know things haven't been right with you since summer. I never see Scott or Malia here anymore. You’ve been so quiet." 

He takes a step further into the room, "look I don't know what happened in-“ 

Stiles doesn't want to talk about Mexico, and he certainly doesn’t want his dad to discover Derek Hale creeping behind the door, he's not sure his heart could take it. So instead he moves towards him, almost stumbling as his legs snarl in his sheets, instantly regretting his choice of batman pyjamas.

”-Dad, I’d rather not talk about this right now. Thanks, really, but I'm going to be ok." 

“If you're sure, son.” 

The sheriff’s voice is so kind and patient that Stiles pulls him into a tight hug before ushering the door closed. 

"Goodnight."

He must look miserable when he turns round, because Derek's expression softens as he steps out of the shadows.

“What's going on?" He asks.

So Stiles tells him. He talks about the Chimera’s; a bunch teenagers taken against their will and experimented on by men in masks, transformed into creatures with increasing amounts of blood on their hands. He talks about Donovan, who threatened to murder his dad before going missing from the cells. 

“Oh, and Scott has asthma again now,” He plows on.

He skirts around the fact that the pack is not on the best of terms, but perhaps it’s obvious in everything he’s saying.

Derek just listens, his forehead furrowing more and more as Stiles talks. Eventually, he runs out of things to say and feels his shoulders dropping, like a literal weight has been lifted. He’s just starting to analyse what this means, what drunk-dialling Derek bloody Hale in the first place means, when suddenly Derek's closing the distance between them.

“I’ll look into it.” He presses a hand to his shoulder for a brief second before disappearing through the window. 

Exhausted, Stiles crawls back into bed, his shoulder still tingling as he drifts easily into a dreamless sleep. 

\- 

The next morning he showers thoroughly, keen to erase any trace of eau de Derek. Under no circumstances does he want to explain his late night visitor or his reasons for dropping by.

He's running late by the time he reaches school. He finds the rest of the pack with Theo, hunched in discussion in the courtyard. As he walks towards them he notices the stiff atmosphere, the way their bodies are held in tension. 

"We need to do more than that, I can help-" Theo is saying, his voice rising.

Scott looks so bone-tired as he interrupts.

“-Look, for now we keep our heads down. We watch for anyone acting strangely and we look for clues about who might be missing. We haven't been able to preempt the Dread Doctors so far, if we could find who their next target is, maybe things will shift in our favour." He finishes firmly, ending the conversation. 

Stiles nods at him in agreement and one by one the group disperse, clearly keen to be anywhere else. Scott gives him a pat on the arm before leaving too, trailing after Theo, his hand already reaching for his inhaler.  
Kira stays behind, catching Stiles up on what he'd missed. He suspects that she's avoiding spending time with Scott and he feels guilty that he has no idea what's going on with them, no idea how so much distance crept up between them all? He’s about to ask when the bell rings. She gives him a shrug before turning for class in the opposite direction. 

He gets home to find Derek in his room again, he doesn't scream this time but it's a close call. He's sat at Stiles desk looking entirely at home reading the bestiary.

“Who's the new guy?' Derek asks gruffly, without looking up from his page. 

"Hello to you too, Derek. My day was great thanks, how about yours?" he asks, throwing his backpack down to the floor. “I’m guessing you’ve been at school - was it good to be back at your favourite lurking spot?” 

“Stiles,” he says, a note of warning in his voice, “who’s the new guy?"

“Don’t be a sternwolf,” Stiles relents, quickly hiding his smile when he notices Derek’s thunderous expression.

“His names Theo. We went to school together, years ago. He came back because he heard Scott was an alpha. He wants in the pack."

"And this is a bad thing?" Derek asks, closing the bestiary and returning it to the desk.

"I don't trust him,” Stiles almost whispers, sick of having this conversation with everyone.

"I'll watch him." Derek states flatly, as though this is an obvious conclusion.

"What? you believe me?”

“Stiles, if you think there's something off about him, than that's good enough for me. You were right about Matt and Jackson, remember."

"Well, I mean, I didn't know he was controlling a murderous lizard, as such, but- "

"Shut up, stiles." Derek says but he's smiling, a real smile that softens his face, taking years off it in an instant. His smile is like actual sunshine and Stiles can't breath for a moment, just basking in it. 

His smiles are so rare Stiles feels that each one deserves a commemorative plaque. Derek smiles again, almost shyly this time and Stiles realises he must have said that last part out loud. 

He tries to hide the blush creeping up his neck with a question, “Do you want pizza?" and then cringes at himself. 

Derek mercifully cuts through his internal meltdown with a steady “sure,” like he honestly doesn’t have other things he’d rather be doing. 

Thats how Stiles ends up eating pizza with Derek Hale and his dad. It's not as awkward as he feared, the two of them catching up and talking over cases with Stiles interjecting every so often. 

As they finish eating, he realises that his usual anxieties, unformed and clawing, have subsided, like they can no longer reach him. And suddenly it clicks into place - Derek makes him feel better. The fact that he finds Derek soothing is almost laughable. He's always been a harbinger of generally bad things, creepy family members, rival packs and occasional physical pain. But he has somehow also morphed into someone who is there to share problems, to take on burdens, to help. 

His heart must be somersaulting at the revelation because Derek leans to rest a hand on his arm from the next seat, quietly asking "are you alright?" 

Stiles forces a smile and nods “sure,” all the while thinking - i'm so screwed.


	2. Chapter 2

With the pizza demolished, the sheriff offers Derek a beer from the fridge and they migrate to the lounge, casually talking as the sports channel plays in the background. Stiles, still in the grip of a mini-meltdown following the meals revelations, sits off to the side, stealing furtive glances at Derek, who actually starts to look relaxed. He’s leaning back in his seat, head tilted lazily towards the screen, his face soft. 

Seeing Derek at peace is unexpected, it hits Stiles like a punch to the chest, and suddenly he's afraid to do or say anything that might break it. Peaceful on Stiles though is quite a conspicuous look, and he finds himself wanting to squirm in discomfort after only seconds of attempting it. Derek turns to look at him, first anxious and then frustrated.

Get a grip, Stiles tells himself sternly, shoving his hands under his legs to still them and offering a lopsided smile in apology.

Finally, Derek stands to leave and Stiles feels equal parts relieved and disappointed. 

"You gonna be in town for long, son?" the sheriff asks, breaking the silence as they reach the door.

"I'm here to help a friend. I’m not sure how long it will take.” 

Now Stiles is looking at Derek like he’s the puzzle. Surely he can’t mean him? An annoyance, a necessary evil - sure, but friend? Derek had never called him that.

The sheriff just nods, "well, if you're around later in the week you should stop by and watch the game."

Stiles is already answering, waving a hand dismissively. 

"No dad, Derek won't want-"

“-That would be great. Thank you, sir."

Certain that he's wandered into another dimension, Stiles’s eyebrows almost lift off his head as he sends Derek a bemused look, silently asking "sir?" 

Derek just holds his gaze evenly, giving nothing away. Stiles rolls his eyes. 

The sheriff looks back and forth between them before clearing his throat, "alright then.”

"Are you really sticking around for a while?" Stiles asks, once his dad has retreated out of earshot, trying to keep the traitorous sense of hope he's feeling from his voice. 

Derek pauses, giving a reluctant nod of assent as he pulls on his leather jacket. He’s turning to leave again and Stiles really should just let him - not looking a gift horse in the mouth and all that, but curiosity wins out and he takes another step, holding Derek’s gaze searchingly as he almost whispers.

"Because we’re friends - pack, right?”

"You want my help or not?" Derek’s voice is gruff but there’s an edge of vulnerability too, vanishing almost at soon as Stiles recognises it.

“Yeah, I mean, of course-"

Derek turns and leaves without another word. 

Stiles stays rooted to the spot with the ghost of his last words still at his lips, only moving when he hears the car door slam shut. He steps onto the porch, leaning on the railing as he watches the Camaro roar to life and pull off into the darkness. 

Stiles shakes his head. Derek has only been back in Beacon Hills for twenty four hours and already his thoughts about him are hopelessly confused - he’s a source of both comfort and apprehension, apparently a friend but also something more, someone who makes his stomach churn, who’s smiles warm him like the sun. But then he's also someone closed off and severe. He’s someone who will leave again.  
No matter how much he pulls on these different threads he can’t quite unsnarl the knot in his mind that is Derek. Stiles is sure this is why he’s never allowed himself to think about him too closely before - there was nothing to be gained from it. 

Yet… visits from Derek usually involved being thrown up against the nearest hard surface, in the least fun way, or being given a casual death threat. He'd never appeared in Stiles's room to just listen, miraculously chasing away his nightmares in the process. Derek Hale had also never once looked at home lounging on the Stillinski couch. So maybe things were changing?

"Well I’m down the rabbit hole now," he concludes as he traipses back inside, slumping next to his dad in front of the TV.

"I'm not even gonna ask,” the sheriff says, laughing quietly as he takes another swig of beer.

Stiles taps the sheriff’s leg reassuringly as he answers.

"Good choice, dad.” 

-

He doesn’t see Derek the next day, or the day after that, though he thinks about him at alarmingly frequent intervals, envisioning him skulking behind the tree line at every turn. No one else mentions seeing him, so Stiles presumes that’s how he wants it to stay and firmly keeps his mouth shut.  
Theo had also been disconcerting in his absence for the past few days, missing school on flimsy excuses that no one else seemed to bat an eyelid about. 

Stiles is thinking that everything is becoming suspiciously quiet when suddenly the other shoe drops and Liam is barreling down the corridor towards him, frantic and breathless. Scott is trailing behind, hair sticking out as though he’s been raking his hands through it repeatedly. 

“Hayden is a chimera,” Liam says desperately, “Hayden is a chimera!”

“Dude, slow down…are you sure?” Stiles asks, guiding him to sit on the bench behind, words tumbling out of his mouth as Stiles slots in beside him.  
He explains that Hayden had been scratched by Tracy, the first chimera they’d encountered. Stiles remembers her perfectly - long claws, a tail and a seriously bad attitude. The wounds she’d left on Hayden had disappeared, almost instantly. She could suddenly hear conversations happening three rooms away, “oh and her eyes glow yellow now.”

“Ahh... that is pretty damning evidence,” Stiles says, closing his hand around Liam's shoulder and squeezing. 

In unison their gazes both drift up, towards Scott. 

-

Scott calls an emergency pack meeting that evening, they gather in the library looking for any scraps of information about the Dread Doctors and the hundreds of questions they pose - how they're able to phase in and out of space? how they can erase memories?

Liam and Hayden huddle next to Scott, he’s murmuring reassurances to them whilst trying to hide how woefully unsure he is. Kira is sat off to the side, doing a good job of ignoring everyone.

“We don’t know what they have planned for you, but we know that they want your transformation to be a success. As long as you're getting stronger, you're okay."

"And if that stops? I know about the others. What happens when my condition is terminal?” Hayden shivers.

"Then we’ll be here to protect you,” Liam replies forcefully, “right Scott?”

Stiles turns his attention back to the books. They'd raided Deaton’s library in his absence, grabbing anything that might be of use. Stiles would normally be salivating over this treasure trove of supernatural information, but tonight he feels overwhelmed, like they’re scrambling blindly for something far out of reach. He forces himself to press on.

Theo turns up late, looking uncharacteristically spooked. As he slouches down into the seat opposite, there’s no trace of the usual confidence that he oozes. Stile’s isn’t sure why but it’s absence rattles him. 

“Everything ok?” 

“What do you care?” Theo snaps back with a scowl, shutting a large volume between them with a thud. 

Sighing, Stiles tries again.

“You know, with Tracy and Lucas I thought the Dread Doctors were creating monsters, but Hayden still seems like herself. I think that the others might have been monstrous to begin with.” 

Theo lifts an eyebrow, “Why are you telling me this?” 

“We’re researching the Dread Doctors, right." Stiles leans in closer across the table. 

"Look, I know we got off to the wrong start.“

“That's not my fault.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

Stiles lapses into silence for a beat, telling himself that he had once been friends with Theo. He remembers that though secretly terrified, they’d loved watching horror films together. Scott had jumped out on them once after watching the Blair Witch Project and Theo had remained twitchy for months. One Christmas they’d eaten so much candy they were sick. They’d sucked at sports together but somehow managed to laugh about it. He tries to project a sense of these memories as he speaks, desperate to connect with the Theo from his childhood, rather than this cryptic figure who'd returned unrecognisable.

“I just wanted to say that you can talk to us, about anything - worries, half baked theories, whatever. We’ll listen ok.”

Theo’s forehead creases in calculation. His eyes drag over Stiles before looking over the disparate groups in the library, lingering on Liam and Hayden, still locked in tense discussion in the far corner. 

Slowly, his mouth curves upwards and he nods.

“Noted.” 

Stiles is about to breath a sigh of relief when Theo continues.

“There’s been some stuff going on, but I’m handling it.”

“Hmm…That doesn’t sound too ominous.”

Theo huffs a small laugh, “It’s ok, really. But I do have to go. Tell Scott I’m sorry.” 

He stands, winding his way around the table towards the exit, leaning down close to stiles’s ear as he passes, his voice unhurried.

“Oh and I think you’re right. I think the first chimeras were monsters. Maybe that’s what the Dread Doctors are searching for?”

Stiles watches Theo’s back retreat, a new determination in his step and at once feels cold from head to toe.  
He makes a note on his mental to-do list, 'talk to Scott about Theo acting strangely - again,' before returning to his research, hoping there’s something he will be able to make sense of tonight. 

The crowd gradually thins until Stiles is left alone. He's coming up frustratingly blank, his mind fit to explode if he runs into anymore dead ends or lingering questions. He rubs his eyes before shoving the books away and leaving. 

It's dark when he gets outside and he's surprised to find Kira sat on the steps out front. It's cold and there's a heavy mist in the air, light from the street lamps filtering through it in a thick haze.

"I thought you left an hour ago?” Stiles says, sinking down next to her, rubbing his arms against the chill.

"Just waiting for my dad," she turns her head stiffly as she answers, sounding upset and trying to hide her face and the tears streaking it.

“Kira...whats wrong?’ Stiles asks, scooting in closer and craning his neck to reach her eyes with his own. 

They sit in silence for a long while, Stiles feeling more and more out of his depth, until finally, she turns to face him. 

“I’m losing control, we all know it. Scott doesn't trust me any more. He doesn't trust me not to hurt anyone! I'm a burden to you all at a time when you need me.”

Hearing the fear in her voice is painful, it rakes up unspeakable memories of himself, adrift and fading under the influence of the nogitsune. He rubs the back of his neck slowly, before extending his hands out in front of them, his voice gentle as he answers. 

“Kira, these hands of mine are responsible for a lot. Last year I wasn’t in control, but this body was causing people terrible pain. Through it all Scott never once gave up on me, none of you did. You brought me back to life. So I know Scott would never give up on you either, none of us would. And you could never be a burden.”

She leans into him, nodding and sniffling.

“It’s going to be ok,” he speaks into her hair, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

“I hope you're right Stiles.”

"When am I not?" he smiles lightly, ”but you should talk to Scott about it too, I know he'll tell you the same."

Kira dabs at her eyes with her sleeve, her head bobbing several times in agreement. 

“Well.. Whilst we’re being honest then, I think you should talk to Malia.” 

Stiles wants to shrink in on himself, this day is just the worst he thinks.

“We broke up, I guess. We just - stopped. I...”

“She misses you. Whatever happened you still need each other, you’re pack, and right now we need all the friends we can get.”

Mr Yukimura appears across the car park, waving over at them, clutching a pile of books and looking apologetic for the delay.  
Stiles lifts his eyes to meet Kira’s and he nods in promise before they stand. 

“Bye.” 

With Kira gone he crosses the car park, impatiently ready to be home - of course that's when the jeep refuses to start. He allows himself ten seconds of sitting with his head in his hands before he gets up, reaching for his roll of duct tape and wrench. After fifteen minutes of tinkering under the hood he cheers when she finally starts, the tired engine spluttering to life as the key turns.

He leaps back out of the car, stretching to close the lid, when in a flash pain rips through his right shoulder, blood pouring as teeth mangle the flesh there.  
He yells in pain, the sound reverberating around the empty lot.  
Somehow managing to break free he spins round to see Donovan, the convicted fellon with psychopathic traits and a tendency for vendettas staring back at him. 

But this isn’t the kid he remembers, he’s been transformed into something nightmarish. The streetlight shines down, highlighting the fangs protruding grotesquely from his jaw, the blood staining around his mouth, held in a sickening smirk. 

Stiles’s mind is screaming a combination of 'chimera' and 'run' and 'Scott'. He can feel panic rising in his throat. He falters, stumbling back a step and throwing up a hand, the other still wrapped uselessly around the wrench. 

“What did they do to you?” he asks.

Donovan growls as he inches closer.

“They made me stronger. I’m going to kill you now Stiles, and it will be as easy as breathing.”

"Killing me won't change anything that's happened to you, or your dad," he shouts desperately.

"Maybe not." Donovan pauses, and for a second Stiles thinks he may have a chance to talk him down, he gulps a greedy lungful of air, bracing himself to speak again- 

"But it'll feel good." 

Stiles makes to run back towards the school but Donovan is faster, grabbing his arm and throwing him to the floor effortlessly. Stiles swings the wrench wildly at his head. It connects with a crack but does little to slow Donovan down. He crowds over stiles from above, fangs bared, their faces just inches apart. 

Stiles is thinking that this may finally be it, he's going to die, alone and with so much left unsaid.

And then Derek is there, out of nowhere, predatory, eyes glowing as he sinks his claws deep into Donovans back.  
Donovan's scream is blood curdling as he's yanked up in the air and tossed down with a furious howl. Derek stalks after him, advancing, putting distance between them and Stiles, raking claws over any flesh he can contact with until Donavan snarls, turns and disappears. 

Back with Stiles in an instant, Derek drags him to the jeep which is still idling impatiently in it’s space. He loads Stiles, shocked and motionless, into the passenger seat before the tyres screech on concrete as he pulls out of the lot.

“Are you ok?” Derek demands, “Stiles, are you ok?” he’s almost shouting now, reaching for Stiles’s shoulder and then recoiling in horror when he feels the damp, steady trickle of blood there. 

“I’m ok, Derek.” Stiles croaks. 

“We’ll decide that once we’re back at yours. Who was that?” 

He’s driving recklessly, normally Stiles would be clinging to his seat, berating Derek for putting his jeep through such punishing treatment but he can’t form the words. 

“Stiles?”

“That was Donovan. The Dread Doctors got to him.” 

“I saw him talking to Theo yesterday. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know who he was.”

“Not your fault.” 

"I heard Theo talking to Scott too, about not trusting Kira. He mentioned you aswell," Derek's hands are gripping the wheel, his jaw tight and his expression murderous, "he was trying hard to hide it, and Scott was distracted, but his intent - there was malice in it Stiles."

“You think he's behind this? How?”

“I think he's involved. I’m sorry, I should have done more.” 

“Dude, you just saved my life, you’ve got to stop saying sorry.” 

Derek's answering smile is a little forced but it slows down his breathing and stops him snapping the steering wheel, so Stiles calls it a win.

-

The sheriff’s working a late shift so isn't there to witness Stiles being practically carried from the car, his feet apparently unable to remember their purpose. Derek deposits him on the chair in the bathroom, pawing at his top to get a look at his injuries and sucking in a breath when he takes a look at his shoulder. The next second the burning pain there is evaporating under his touch.  
Derek's hand lingers as Stiles breaths a sigh of relief, placing his hand on Dereks arm in return.

"Did I say thank you?"

“There’s no need to.”

“Thank you, Derek. Really.”

Derek looks down at him with this intense and brooding stare, like he’s scrutinising every part of his face, looking for answers there. Time slows to a crawl. Stiles is suddenly unable to breath, a warmth creeping over his skin. He knows he should feel exposed - shirtless, with Derek Hale cradling his shoulder. But he’s captivated, safe. They sit in silence for a few more seconds until Derek pulls away, clearing his throat before speaking to his feet.

“I think that wound’s going to be ok, it’ll need dressing, and you’ll have a few bruises but otherwise…”

"I don't want my dad to know - Shit! do you think Donovan will go after him instead?" Stiles is suddenly on his feet, raking a hand through his hair, thoughts firing so fast it makes his head pound.

"Leave it with me. I'll call the station,” Derek answers simply, cutting through his mounting hysteria with calm. 

Derek's already reaching for his phone, “why don't you take a shower, I'll be right here."

"You'll be right here?" Stiles can't resist asking, raising an eyebrow, surprised but gratified to see a red flush creeping up Derek's neck. 

"I'l be right outside," he corrects hastily, disappearing from the bathroom. 

-

After his shower, Stiles can’t face putting his grimy, blood stained clothes back on. He opens the door hesitantly, a towel wrapped tightly about his hips, to find his batman pyjamas folded on the floor in front of him. With an exasperated smile he scoops them up and gets dressed.

He returns to his room to find Derek back in his usual chair, a first aid kit open on the desk in front of him. He stands to bandage Stile's shoulder, "perhaps we should get Melissa to take a look at this tomorrow."

"It'll be fine." 

Derek hums in disapproval. "You're dad's at the station with Parrish, he's going to drive him home and keep a watch out for Donovan, though I doubt he'll try anything again tonight. He'll take a while to heal."

Stiles just nods, still in a daze.

Derek finishes wrapping his shoulder, his brow knitted in concern as he asks "can I get you anything?"

Stiles crawls into his bed. "No, I'm ok. You can go now." 

Stiles is sure he hears a low rumble from Derek's chest as he answers. "I'm not going anywhere," and he settles back down into his chair with a glower. 

"Get some sleep." 

Stiles wants to argue, mumbling out a response, the word “strictwolf” the only one discernible, before he finds himself being pulled under by a tide of exhaustion. 

Of course the nightmares return that night, only this time the berserkers have morphed into Wendigos, endless rows of bloodstained teeth bear down on him until he wakes to the sound of his own screams. 

Derek is beside him in a heartbeat. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Stiles stutters out, embarrassed.

“It’s okay Stiles. Nothing is going to hurt you tonight, I’m here.”

Through the fog of sleep, he imagines he can feel the trace of fingertips brushing across his forehead, just fleeting, before he hears Derek sitting back in his chair and exhaling softly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter, not 100% happy but decided to post. Fingers crossed you enjoy it. Apologies for any mistakes.  
> This started out with the silliest of ideas and has been taken over by a scheming Theo, obliviousness and so many angsty feels - send help :-)

Stiles wakes with a jolt to a throbbing headache. His body complains as he drags himself out of bed. Groggy, he crosses to the mirror, watches as his reflection peels up his shirt, exposing the bruises flowering across his ribs. He probes at them gingerly with his fingertips, flashes of memories surfacing from the night before - teeth sinking into flesh, cold sweat at his neck, the smack of metal against skull. The blinding helplessness and anger return too and his hand stills, eyes stinging as the edges of his reflection wobble.

After a few moments Derek clears his throat from the corner and Stiles jumps, startled from his trance. Different memories trickle back to him then, a hand on his shoulder, words of comfort whispered in the night, and at once he feels painfully vulnerable to have been seen so exposed. He fights down the heat flaming across his cheeks and reluctantly turns to face him.

”Dude, you have to stop doing that."

Derek is staring up at him, a smile playing on his lips. It's a cautious, optimistic smile, full of familiarity and understanding. It’s as devastating as it is inexplicable. Stiles has never seen Derek smile like that, in fact that kind of look on him is so alien that he finds himself prickling, shamed by the special treatment Derek obviously thinks he and his frail human ass need. He folds his arms over his chest, clamping down on the smile his lips are itching to offer in return. 

“Have you been here all night? I was serious when I said you could go. I don't need treating with kid gloves."

In a heartbeat, Derek's expression twists from something gentle to something dangerous. Shoulders tense, he stands, shifting his weight as though wrestling with what to do next.  
Stiles hovers cautiously across the room, until mind made up, Derek lurches forward, closing the distance between them, his gaze intense and burning.  
Stiles assumes he’s moving to fist a hand in his collar, or at least to shove him against the door, from past experience he certainly looks angry enough. Maybe this would reset the balance of their old relationship - distant and based on nothing but necessity and bite. It might even be for the best…yet after only seconds contemplating it, Stiles knows that he can't go back. Derek is just inches away and Stiles has stopped breathing. He throws up a hand, fumbling for the right words.

“Don’t get me wrong big guy, I'm so grateful for you...I mean, for you - ah, for what you did, you know. I just..."

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek shakes his head, retreating back a step. “It doesn't matter, let's just get you to school." 

Stiles releases a breath from between tight lips and nods, but doesn't move, rooted to the spot. The silence stretches and becomes heavy. Stiles has to look away, occupying himself with a totally normal, non-awkward study of the carpet where he wishes for a time machine, or at least the ability to not be so affected by Derek Hale's smiles.  
Finally, he risks a glance up. Derek's rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, eyes tilted to the ceiling as though searching for answers there. If Stiles didn't know better he'd say he almost looks embarrassed, but he can’t understand why.  
Noticing Stiles's eyes on him, Derek clears his throat, ”Parrish..."  
He looks surprised when he speaks, as though his mouth has acted without permission. Swiftly, he seems to decide that anything is better than returning to silence and rushes to continue, "Parrish stopped by to pick your dad up, early. I think there's some kind of crisis at the station."

Through the window, Stiles can see his Dad's cruiser parked up front, and he points a finger towards it in question, his brows knitted together. 

"There's a problem with your dad's car." 

"Since when?"

Derek instantly turns evasive, cursing his choice of conversation and fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket.

"Derek...what did you do?"

He shrugs guiltily, "Once we know what's happening with Donovan, I'll fix it. Until then it's safest that he's not alone. That goes for you too."

Well, whatever his motives, Derek's protective kick doesn't seem to be going anywhere soon. Stiles throws up his hands at the complicated mess his life has become, "I can't even..." he huffs, resigning himself to getting ready.

\- 

Stiles pulls over a block form school to let Derek out. He mumbles something about picking up the Camaro, his gaze distractedly surveying the road ahead as the car idles. He cracks the door open before swivelling in his seat to level Stiles with a long-suffering look.

"Talk to Scott, say nothing to Theo-"

"-You've told me ten times already, I remember the plan, Derek."

He leans in, eyebrows raised like he finds this statement highly doubtful, "keep in touch!" 

With that he disappears. Stiles's head sinks down to rest on the steering wheel as he gives a lazy salute "Aye Captain." 

-

He's running late by the time he parks in the school lot. He fumbles to reach his backpack from the seat behind, tucking the books hastily grabbed from his desk under his arm and mourning the loss of his usual caffeine fix.  
His morning had been surreal, to say the least, but strangely nice. He'd come downstairs to find breakfast ready, Derek looming over him and insisting he eat something. He'd also said it wasn't a good idea to drink coffee, pushing a glass of orange juice towards him instead - Stiles wasn't sure what the medical rationale was behind this advice and puzzled over whether he was trying to look out for him, or trying to punish him. He settled on the later as he noticed Derek smugly cradling a steaming mug himself. 

"School" he states to himself calmly now, uncoiling the tension in his shoulders, "I can do this. Talk to Scott, say nothing to Theo - piece of cake."  
When he finally steps down from the jeep, a sense that something is off swallows him and his positive mental attitude the second his foot strikes the ground.  
He turns his head, noticing a stream of people moving to the back of school. Hushed voices murmuring, exclamations of shock floating on the air.  
His phone is buried in his pocket, he hasn't looked at it since last night and he grabs for it now, registering the string of missed calls and messages he'd missed with a rising sense of dread. Numb, with feet like lead, he follows after the crowd. 

Rounding the corner he sees yellow tape strung around the squat trees at the edge of the courtyard, a narrow marquee hastily constructed at the centre. His dad is there, surrounded by deputies sharing grim looks and clipped sentences. 

Parrish is stood to the side with Lydia. He's holding a pen and notebook like he's taking her statement, but they're not speaking, their gazes locked intently, as though exchanging soundless words of caution and comfort. The closeness between them would have dismayed Stiles last year, but he doesn't even register a trace of jealousy as he stumbles forward, dodging under the tape.

"Lydia?"

Her eyes widen as she sees him, she rushes forwards, launching herself into his arms.

"You're okay, thank god you're okay!" 

"I'm fine Lydia...I promise," he adds when she continues to hug him, almost shaking in his grip.

"I saw you Stiles, I saw you this morning. I had this terrible feeling, I followed it here and when I saw the body... I was so relieved that it wasn't you." 

Stiles feels sick to his stomach. He wants to ask a thousand questions, who's body is it? What the hell is going on? But the anguish in her voice robs all the air from his lungs and he can only gape at her. 

"Sometimes I hate what I can do. It doesn't feel like a gift today." 

He squeezes her arm, mumbling a string of reassuring words into her hair, ”I'm so sorry. I'm here, we all are. I'm not going anywhere."

She takes a few deep breaths before releasing her grip and backing away from him, smoothing any stray stands of hair back into place along with her composure. Calm again, she fixes her penetrating gaze on him. 

"It's just that...my visions aren't usually wrong."

He holds her gaze unflinchingly, "I know." 

She lowers her voice gently, "Is everything okay, Stiles?"

The sheriff appears beside them, "Son?" And he feels saved from having to attempt to lie to Lydia. From experience he knows chances of success in that are slim to none.

“Dad, do you have a minute?" 

He offers Lydia an apologetic smile as he moves and she dips her head sadly in return before melting back to Parrish.

The sheriff draws Stiles further away from the students gawping at the perimeter. He looks pale, he’s turning his hat in his hands, his face racked with regret. 

"What's happening dad? Please."

"A student is missing…”

Stiles's eyes are boring into the side of the cloth tent as he whispers "and..?"

The sheriff sighs, "and Donovan, he's dead." 

"Dead! No, how?" He rakes a hand through his hair, strung out and unravelling, he blinks back the tears welling in his eyes. 

"The janitor found him this morning, lying in a pool of mercury. Lydia was here too." The sheriff shakes his head as he lowers his voice, "It looks similar to the last few deaths. I sure wish my department was better placed to deal with these masked butchers." 

"You think this was the Dread Doctors? Dad, I need to see the body." 

The sheriff appears physically pained by this response.

"Stiles. You're 17 years old, this is your school. Right now you're going to go in there and have a normal day, and you're going to leave this to us." 

"I mean it, son," he adds gravely when Stiles raises his hands, moving to object. 

"Fine," Stiles spits out after a pause, tugging at the straps of his backpack, his jaw tight. Satisfied, the sheriff turns to leave, but Stiles literally can't stop himself from reaching out to still him, itching to ask but also terrified to know.

"Who's the missing student?"

The sheriff squares his body, answering, "It's Theo Raeken," before trudging back towards the crowd of deputies.

-

The day passes in a blur, he and Scott only manage a few fevered words at the start of economics class before coach Finstock is screeching at them to shut up, he throws Scott a hopeless look before hunching over his desk, resigned to silence. 

Liam is another problem, like a dog with a bone all day, terrified that Hayden will be next, he suggests plan after plan for how to neutralise the Dread Doctors, each more insane than the last. At the end of one particularly emotional rant, Stiles ends up pulling him into a reluctant hug, unsure of what else he can offer. God, he wishes he could remember a day when fear wasn’t playing an overshadowing part.

Each student is interviewed by the Sheriff's department, Stiles grimaces as he lies his way through his questions, yes he saw Theo last night, no he didn't think anything was out of the ordinary, no he didn't see Donovan. 

At the final bell he scrambles to catch Scott by his locker, tapping his fist nervously against the metal.

"I need to talk to you about some stuff, it's important."

Stiles feels like Scott actually looks at him properly for the first time in weeks. His eyes narrowing in concern at what he sees, "Everything okay?"

They both stare at each other for a few seconds, their mouths gradually curving into matching smiles at the absurdity of this question. They move to rest their backs against the lockers, shoulders pressed together.

“It’s a dumb question I know, you just have that wild look in your eyes - it never ends well.”

“You’re thinking of the whole, lets go roaming in the woods at night thing huh? - That’s given me an unfairly bad rep.”

"Sure it has," Scott teases. 

“No seriously though, I’m fine, I just..." he pauses, not sure how to begin unpicking the omissions from the past few days, what they mean and how they've snowballed. He's also suddenly afraid to break this fragile sense of normality between them, "would you stop by later?" - he'll know exactly what to say by then.

\- 

Stiles has been home for half an hour, pacing back and forth in his room, bringing new meaning to the word jittery, when the doorbell rings.  
He bolts down the stairs, heart banging against his ribcage. He opens the door, words already threatening to pour out of his mouth in confession before he realises that it's Derek, standing there casually, holding a box of beer.

"Derek?"

“Stiles…your dad invited me to watch the game? Is it still okay?"

"Of course," Stiles opens the door wider, singling him inside and setting the beer down in the kitchen. 

“I forgot about tonight," he admits guiltily after a beat, slouching against the counter top. Derek just offers him a shrug and a small smile. 

"Do you mind If I'm here?" 

Stiles shakes his head, "Of course not...it's just, did you hear what happened to Donovan?”

“I did. Are you okay?” 

Somehow when Derek asks that question Stiles knows that he's not afraid to hear the real answer, and in turn he has no caution in responding with the truth.

“I'm not sure. Do you think we were the last ones to see him alive? I mean, what if-”

“It was the men in the masks right?"

"The Dread Doctors."

"I'm not calling them that."

Stiles finds himself chuckling softly.

"There was nothing we could have done, he wasn't going to stop till you were dead. I made him back off, but I didn’t kill him. I knew you wouldn't want that."

Stiles tilts his head towards him, searching Derek's eyes in curiosity at this statement and how it was spoken with such confidence. 

"I knew you wouldn't want any part in his death, no matter how small it was, or how evil he is. I knew you'd hate the feeling of it on your hands."

Stiles murmurs, "Yeah, well I have enough of that already."

"It's not your fault.” 

Derek has ended up closer than Stiles would ever have thought comfortable. It shows how odd this week has been that he’s grateful for it, that he wants to close the distance between them entirely, wants to wrap Derek's arms around him like armour and disappear. That pull makes him irrationally angry, what the hell is Derek doing here? Being kind, making him feel better... It makes him want to scream for the moment when inevitably it will be taken away.

“I don’t want you to feel like I need babysitting. I can manage.” 

Derek stutters his response, like Stiles's statement confuses him, “I know - I know you can manage. Stiles, you’re so strong. I don’t think an earthquake could shake you, not really."

Stiles was huffing up his chest, ready to argue again, but Derek’s words drain his anger in an instant. Shy at the compliment, he try to look away, but is held in Derek's tractor beam gaze again. He curses internally, desperate to regain some control of the situation.

"Why are you here then?" 

Derek looks shy and uncomfortable now as he considers his answer.

"Honestly, game night sounded nice - normal. Braeden traveled a lot, looking for the next clue, working the next job, never having any roots. Laura and I did that too, years ago - I'm tired of it."

Stiles feels like someone has been rooting around inside his gut. Derek has never talked bout Laura to him, why would he? Stiles dug up her dead body and never said sorry, he'd never once said a kind word to a man who’d lost his sister. Sure that man seemed intensely creepy and possibly murderous at the time, but still, it felt gratifying to hear her name even uttered to him.

"Well, you’re welcome any time man, I mean it.." 

He wants to ask about Laura, to build his understanding of Derek in pieces, like solving a puzzle. Most of all he wants to say sorry, but somehow the word lodges in his throat. Instead he places a hand on Dereks back, guiding him further into the house. 

"Dads running late, but let's get set up in the den. I'm making popcorn."

His mind is running happily towards safe, domestic thoughts like popcorn, football and family, when they're abruptly derailed by a loud and unapologetic knock at the door. 

Stiles swallows, "That'll be Scott." 

"It's not." 

Derek trails behind him ominously. His frame, relaxed only seconds earlier, returns to its usual stance, like a coiled spring. 

Parrish is standing on the porch, framed by the light of his cruiser, illuminating the night in flashes of blue. 

"Hey Parrish, whats up?" 

Parrish ignores Stiles entirely, his gaze fixed to the spot over his left shoulder and the man hovering behind as he speaks.

"Derek Hale, I'm arresting you for the murder of Theo Raeken…” 

-

Stiles bursts into the station, the jeep hastily abandoned across several spaces out front. 

"Dad, what the hell is going on?" 

Silence breaks across the room at his words and the sheriff ushers him into his office, shutting the door behind them with a thud. He settles in front of his desk, facing his son with thumbs hooked through his belt loops. He looks like he would rather squeeze a lemon into his eye than have this conversation. 

“Dad! why do you think Derek would hurt Theo?” 

“I’m going to explain this to you, because I know I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t. I want you to analyse the facts, and then maybe you'll understand."

Stiles shrugs his shoulders noncommittally, falling back to perch on the edge of the couch. 

"We took statements at school today, several students told us that Theo was afraid of someone, someone older, not a student. Another had seen him talking to Derek, Derek appeared to be threatening him."

"That's just Derek, he looks like he's threatening everyone, he has this brooding thing he's into - that's not a reason to arrest him." 

"He had a hand to Theo's throat Stiles." 

"Well, it could still mean nothing - the guy has zero social skills." 

"This morning we found Derek's Car, stained with a huge amount of blood. Theo's bag was there.”

“There was blood in his car?" Stiles is forced to pause for a second as his thought turn dark, his mind churning chaotically, "Have you found his body?"

"No."

Stiles is suddenly on his feet. "Dad, Theo's a werewolf, he could bleed a tonne, walk away and heal. This is wasting time. We should be out looking for him."

"Super-healing is not exactly evidence I can submit," He practically shouts, shaking his his head in frustration before lowering his voice.

"You know It's not easy being sheriff in this town. Normal rules don't apply here and often, we have to stand back. But Stiles, a kid, just like you, is missing, presumed dead and I can’t look the other way."

"I wouldn't say he's just like me." Stiles pouts.

"Look. You know I've arrested Derek before, I had no desire to do it again. I don't think he's a murderer, but there's considerable evidence against him. I can't give him special treatment, it was awkward enough to tell my officers that I knew where he would be tonight - at my house."

"I know he didn't do this."

"Theo was seen by another student, about an hour after he left the library last night. His parents phoned this morning when he still hadn't made it home. Do you have any idea of what might have happened?" 

Stiles's mind is whirring as Parrish enters the room behind them. He's stands stiffly, wearing an uneasy expression, like this whole business has him uncomfortable. 

"Derek says his car was stolen, he didn't know until this morning. He was going to talk to you about it tonight. He said he knew we had a lot on today and didn't want to bother us." 

"And his alibi?" 

"Says he stayed the night with someone, but he won't give me a name." 

"For Christ's sake. What are we meant to do with that?" 

They start to mutter between themselves for a while, looking shocked when Stiles finally speaks, like he'd blended with the furniture - seconds after he wishes he could.

"It was me, Derek was with me last night, all night. It couldn't have been him." 

-

The questions had gone on for seemingly hours after that. Stiles kept replaying the image of his dad's jaw hitting the floor, Parrish hastily covering his smile with a cough.

"Son, the other day, when I said I didn't want to know...I thought there was some issue in the pack Derek was here for, something Scott needed help with. I wish you'd told me you felt that way about him, I mean...about guys in general. That's something I want to know Stiles, I'm sorry if I made you feel otherwise." 

Parrish clears his throat loudly, "I'm just gonna.." pointing to the door in a desperate bid to exit the conversation. Stiles envies him when he stumbles out of the room, wishing he could escape too. What could he say? He'd given hardly any details about the night in question, his dad jumping to conclusions instantly and spectacularly.

He wanted to reassure him, "Nothing happened dad, Derek just bandaged my shoulder, lurked in my room, oh and likely sabotaged your car at some point too." But he couldn’t. Sure, nothing had happened between them, Stiles bitterly thought that the whole idea was laughable. But he couldn't lie about his own feelings anymore. Equally, he didn't want to sit in the middle of the sheriffs station and blub about how those feelings weren't reciprocated, it was too painful. So he just nodded and kept his mouth shut. 

-

"I want to talk to you both when I get home,” the sheriff had told them sternly as they retreated from the station, Stiles red to the tips of his ears, wondering if it's possible to die of mortification. How the hell was he going to explain this to Derek?  
This question reverberates around his skull the whole way home, until finally he collapses on his bed. He screws up his eyes, officially done with this day and ready to shut himself off from the world. He's shocked when he feels Derek sink into the mattress beside him. 

"I appreciate what you did for me...and I'm sorry if I've caused any problems with your dad." 

"It's fine, don't mention it.”

"I think Theo's out there somewhere you know, watching all this with a smirk."

“Oh I’m sure he is. I just can’t understand why he’d go after you like this?”

“I did threaten him, tried to warn him off. Maybe he wanted me out of the way for a while. I'm sorry, I should've told you.” 

"Don't worry about it big guy. You did what you thought was right."

"I knew he was planing something, I think I pushed him to act, and you got hurt because of it." 

He taps Derek's hand, resting just centimetres away, with his own, "Yeah, well you got arrested for it, so let's call it quits."

Derek clams up for a while, silent and unmoving before speaking again, his voice thready, almost a whisper.

"How many people have been hurt because of something I thought was right?" 

Stiles knows he's thinking about Kate, Erica and Boyd, maybe even Jackson. He doesn't even know where to start in talking to him about these things but man, he wants to try.

Stiles turns to face him, breathing his name. Derek repositions himself onto his side, mirroring him on the bed. He looks so vulnerable that it's terrifying.  
Stiles suddenly feels that he must be the only person who gets to see Derek like this and it makes him heavy and light at the same time. Painfully slowly he reaches a hand towards him, not sure what the hell he's doing, but just having to change the look on his face, to smooth away his pain.  
His thumb is lingering above Dereks cheek, breath stuttering, gaze searching. Derek is leaning in the final few millimetres..

That's how Scott finds them as he bursts into the room, eyes red, releasing a deafening and angry howl.


End file.
